


Nothing New

by bramblecircuit



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Drug Use, F/F, High School AU, One-Shot, Swearing, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblecircuit/pseuds/bramblecircuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>girls like girls like boys do</em><br/>nothing new</p><p>Pearl doesn't expect anything out of the ordinary at this pool party, but Rose is a little more mesmerizing, the world is a little more welcoming, and her love feels a little more right. </p><p>Inspired by the song "Girls like Girls" by Hayley Kiyoko.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing New

I got into this mess on a bike, and that's how I'm getting out of it.

 

It was just another predictable high school party I didn't really want to go to. I’ve learned how to deconstruct them, and they’re always the same boring affairs, no surprises. There’s always someone pouring beer into red plastic cups and shoving them in your hands, a group smoking pot at the fireplace, a terrible, awful boy.

And not even the kind of terrible you could fall in love with, get your fingers tangled in. He wasn't terrible because he was handsome or clever or had a way with his hands. He was terrible because he dragged girls into the crook of his arm as though they weren't sacred. He kissed their necks from behind and rubbed against them and thought he was better than everyone else.

But she was going to be there, so I could deal with all of that.

 

Anyway, I got to her house without falling off my bike, which I think is a pretty good turnout, considering all the daydreaming I was doing. I knocked on her door and hugged her hello before today's brand of Terrible Boy rubbed his knuckles on my head in some misguided attempt at socialization. Is that what men think they ought to be doing nowadays? "Hi, I think we've met before, so I'm going to give you a headache that will last for an hour. You couldn’t _dream_ of swag this strong."

Ugh.

In the time it took for me to extract myself from his arms, Rose—and she has such a perfect name, doesn’t she?—had grabbed her iPod and a black tangle of earbuds and sat on top of the kitchen counter, goddess that she was. I pushed myself up and sat crossed-legged by her, my kneecap brushing the roughness of her shorts. She smiled at me dreamily for a second, as if considering exactly what I was doing up there in her world, then cracked the sleepiness on her face and handed me an earbud.

And it wasn't like I didn't ask myself the same question daily, second-ly. I felt that all I did was watch as she shed her too-old skin and let herself loose. An hour would pass and my perceptions of her would already be out of date. I usually craved stability, but she was fascinating. Underneath it I knew there would always be something familiar, her essence.

 

The guests weren't there yet, so the boy dragged us out to a total wasteland, a bunch of dead grass rimmed with telephone poles. I fell to staring again. She was dancing, windswept and wonderful, and it mesmerized me, like watching a waterfall or looking up at the stars for the first time. I don't dance much, not in front of people who aren't her, but I could almost forget that our Terrible Boy was still with us, swinging his baseball bat like all Rose needed was a show of strength and mild precision and she would fall at his expensive sneakers.

Besides, isn't anyone going to tell me what's so attractive about girls tugging on their hair? God. 

 

Then we were back, changing into swimsuits, yellow light hazy between the blinds. And...well, I guess I caught a glimpse of her with her shirt off, but that's not important! What matters is that she trusts me enough to change in the same room as her. And she shared a smile with me. Both of us, half-naked—a smile. That's gotta mean something.

He could never hope to compare to any of that. When we got in the water and started messing around, who was it who spit water in her face and made her smile? You'd better believe it wasn't Mr. Fuckboy over there, drinking out of his beer bottle and stumbling away. Nice touch. Real attractive. 

 

When we got our hair up in towels, I painted her nails. I was good at this sort of thing, repetitive, focused. Holding her hand didn't even feel too distracting, since it only told me what I already knew. She was an alluring combination of tough and real, fearful and playful. Sometimes she didn't know who she was and she got stuck, but she always hid it under her bubbly laugh and natural ease of pretending.

But that was just when she held still. When she fidgeted, as she was bound to do, she broke the rules of the universe and made new energy.

 

So we returned to find the life of the party already sapped, her grace too strong for the dull, drug-induced stupors worn by these losers. I found an empty spot on the couch and tried not to move much. It was just my lips I had to keep safe, the gloss Rose applied still drying, but the whole atmosphere of the place felt messy, like it would crumble if anything moved an inch. Rose nuzzled her head onto my shoulder, and the feeling compounded. You know how when one of your friends leans gently on you and it’s like you’ve been chosen? It was that, but way stronger. I would’ve done anything to protect her. 

 

But then Terrible Boy came back and grabbed her from the couch, kissed the back of her neck, and she smiled. For him. And in that moment, he was terrible because maybe he was clever, or cute, or good at kissing, and I was just too gay to see it. But then Rose pulled away from him, her smile fading fast, and my hope came back like it’d been urged by the tides. That boy’s a menace, as they say in the movies. Damn right. 

 

I must’ve fallen asleep there. When I came to my senses, I was alone. Our gracious host was asleep, too, and I snuck past him to get to the pool. I found her there, her legs dangling in the shallow end. She didn’t see me for a second, and I was tempted to look at her from behind the screen until she decided it was time to leave. But being close to someone is worth more than watching, no matter how long it takes to get there, so I joined her by the side of the pool. A moment spun between us, comfortable with itself. 

Then she put her head on my shoulder and everything I’d be planning to say to her washed away.

It’s so easy to think you have to do something to make a relationship work. If you say the right words or profess your love flawlessly, the rest of it will fall into place. But that’s not true. Sometimes you need to do nothing and save up your actions for when they’re wanted. 

 

It was almost too much to bear, the absolute certainty that something important was about to happen. The world was in one of its phases and we were about to tumble out of it, three, two, one—

 

She was looking at me. Really, really, looking. Not looking for something, nothing to find. 

 

Her eyes dropped to my lips and she leaned closer.

 

I heard a scream slash our almost-kiss in two. Someone grabbed my hair and flung me to the ground. I lay there, stunned, dimly aware that I was bleeding. 

 

“Are you kidding me? Of all people, her?” He pointed to me. 

 

Terrible Boy stood in front of Rose, his face dangerously close to hers, yelling obscenities and threats and who knows what. I could barely make out his words, my ears ringing as they were, but I could see Rose start to shut down. Rose didn’t like anger. It made her want to be quiet and reflective until she figured out how she felt about humanity, but me?

 

It just made me angrier. I dragged myself up and punched that sucker in the face. 

 

I couldn’t bear to see Rose—kind, beautiful Rose—talked to like she was an object. Once he was on the ground, I couldn’t stop hitting him. What did he know about what it meant to love her? He was a boy, born to think he was entitled to anything he found beautiful, that his benevolent judgement was a gift. And what had he shared? A couple of pool parties, a few winks in class. While we had talked until the sun came up and laughed and danced alone in her room, making up our own music. She’d done my makeup and I’d combed her hair fresh out of the shower, scattering the droplets like jewels onto the carpet. 

 

She pulled me off of him, tears in her eyes. I stood before her, willing myself not to cry. When she pushed her thumb across my lip to clean up the blood, I almost kissed her, but I knew better than that. I held still, looked to her eyes for permission.

 

And there it was, golden, glorious. She loved me back. So I kissed her. And again. And again, my hands cradling her cheek, digging in her hair. 

 

We pulled apart and broke into smiles. Then she hugged me, tight and warm and I was drowning, but it was the good kind. 

 

Then it was time to go. 

 

I waved to her as I left, a dumb smile already plastered on my face. “Come see me tomorrow,” she’d asked, and I knew exactly how to get to her.

 

I got into this beautiful, glorious mess on a bike, and that's how I'm gonna keep it.


End file.
